


April 29, 2038

by storiewriter



Series: April 29, 2038 [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence, Death, Destruction, Disaster, Multi, demon brawl, transcendence-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiewriter/pseuds/storiewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April 29, 2038 starts out as a normal day for the residents of the United States. Then the world starts to fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	April 29, 2038

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an ask on the transcendence-au tumblr, but also used as an excuse to play around with formats and diferent modes of storytelling. So it’s a bit odd.  
> I'm just posting on ao3 at the moment because a) I have nothing on my account, and b) my wrist is making it hard to write, so I figured I should just do this thing. For those who haven't seen it--enjoy :)

_April 29, 2038— 1:38 PM._

            “—latest casting for the most recent supernatural film, _Son of the Moon_ , has placed actor Max Charles in the role of the Gypsy Father and acclaimed actress Pacifica Northwest in the role of the Gypsy Mother. When asked what she thought of being cast in such a secondary-character role, the heir to the prolific pro-natural Gravity Falls-based Northwest Family said the following:

            “‘ _I realize that this story is about Hanzi rather than my character, Syeira, but when I read the script she really stood out to me. Like, here is a woman who, desperate to have the child society commands she does, makes a deal with the moon and has her life fall apart.’”_

            Dust falls from the ceiling. There’s a faint rumble that receives no attention from the cohosts, Jax and Arya, though Arya does glance up at something off-camera during mid-sentence.

_‘“Perhaps she has very little to do with the story other than as a plot device, but I think that, like, I could give her the character that others might not put into her.’_

            “Jax, any thoughts?”

            “Well, you know what I think of Pacifica Northwest—I doubt she’s the confident, in-your-face celebrity she presents to the public. We all know that the Northwests are traditionally very pronat, and that their daughter emerged as being so heavily super-nat rights is both interesting and also very telling. Why is Pacifica so attached to Syeira? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because she felt—”

            Crashing. On-screen, the floor rips apart between the two cohosts of TMSNBC, who barely avoid falling into the rift. The camera judders and falls at a tilt.

            “What the—what the hell?”

            “oh my god oh my god oh my god—”

            “The FUCK is going on?”

            “We’re still on air, still on air!”

            “Who the fuck cares about being on air, we—John!”

            A great cracking sound, and daylight fills the tilted camera screen from the upper right. Viewable are crewmembers clutching support beams and exposed construction work. One is hanging from a rebar through the chest, her hair falling in her face and obstructing the view of her expression. One of the employees of TMSNBC, lying on the floor, is reaching a hand out towards the gulf in the middle of the studio, expression horrified and disbelieving.

            “John! John! _John_!”

            “oh my god oh my god oh my god—”

            “Somebody help us! _Somebody_!”

            “Call 911, there’s got to be a way to get these people off the floor! Helicopters, anything—who has a phone on them?”

            “Calling! Hold on everybody, we’re getting somebody and—and…”

“oh my god oh my god—”

            “What the hell is it Cim?”

            “It’s a busy tone! It’s a god damned busy tone what the hell is the use of an emergency line when all you get is the busy tone? What the fuck is going on out there? What are we supposed to eve—”

            The camera judders. The voices devolve into screams and sobs, and another piece of the floor falls away, taking at least a dozen people with it. The camera view slide and falls, then jerks. Below, there is water, dirty and grey and rushing through and around countless buildings. In the higher stories, there is fire and smoke.

            “oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god—”

            Another groan, a snap, a shift. There’s a high-pitched shriek to the left of the camera, and a blur of white and gold flies by. Seconds later, it is recognizable as Arya Niebelheier’s flailing, falling form.

            “oh my—”

            Something gives way, and the camera falls, tumbling, tumbling, a dizzying whirl of yellow-lightning sky and burning rubble and churning water and blood-spattered cement before it falls into the water in a rush of static, bubbling white, and then darkness. 

           

_April 29, 2038— 1:41 PM._

“Rosa? Rosa, I can’t hear you, what’s happening?”

            Joshua looked up from his game, frowning. “What’s wrong? Did Ma’s connection go bad again?”

            His Mum looked down at the landline in her hand, the expression on her face like the one she’d had on last year when he’d gotten high and thrown himself off the roof. One nasty spill later, and he and his parents had to start considering the difference that needing a wheelchair would make in their lives.

            “She sounded really freaked out right before the connection cut,” Mum said, and the phone was shaking in her hand. Joshua put the game aside, awkwardly swiveled around so that he could see his Mum better.

            “I’m sure it’s fine,” he said. “Her phone cuts all the time. LA didn’t make anything better or worse than usual.”

            Mum stretched her lips out in what Joshua liked to call her trying-but-still-worried smile. “I suppose,” she said.

            That wouldn’t do. “Call her again,” he said. “And hey, I can get the TV on just in case anything big has happened.”

            This time, she reached over and ruffled his over-long hair. “You know, you’re the best seventeen-year-old son a Mum can ask for.”

            “Of course I am,” he grinned. “I’m me, I’m naturally the best seventeen-year-old son a Mum can ask for.”

            As she laughed, phone still clutched a little too hard in her hand, Joshua wheeled around and went straight for the television. The remote tended to be shoved under the odd furniture in their open-layout home, and months of falling over trying to reach it had taught him it was better to just deal with the TV itself.

            Tapping his fingers on the screen, he navigated to their preferred, eastern-based news network. Getting it straight out of New York aligned with their schedules better than, say, TMSNBC. The screen brightened, and sound came out of the built-in digital speakers.

            “—thunderstorms and heavy rainfall predicted for the Ohio region early this weekend. That storm front will move across the upper Northeast and we might see some hail, so be careful out there!”

            He turned to see his Mum, tapping her foot and holding the phone to her ear, expression falling deeper and deeper into worry. “Mum! Mum, see, it’s just the weather, it’s fine.”

            “That doesn’t mean she’s safe, honey,” she said, biting her lip and running a hand through her corkscrew hair. Her eyes were tearing up and all he could think was _oh no_.

            “As for the Southeast, weather patterns show that—they show—hold on, we’re getting breaking news from the West coast, breaking news.”

            Joshua turned his face back to see the grave face of the elderly Hispanic man who usually reported the weather. “I think our viewers might want to see this.”

            Behind him, the screen turned to something Joshua thought would be more at home in a post-apocalyptic movie. Fire and water, earth sinking and sea rising, smoke billowing, overcast green skies with forks of vicious yellow and blue lightning lacing the atmosphere. Joshua felt his stomach drop. _Ma._

            “Currently, this is the view of Sacramento City.”

Mum made a gurgling noise, but Joshua couldn’t look back at her.

“We are at the moment unsure of the causes of such widespread disaster, but we are receiving reports of similar conditions up and down the west coast, most concentrated in the California region. None of our correspondents are responding to our calls, but we are doing our best to contact anybody, including other networks, who might have more information.”

            Joshua would have paid more attention, but Mum let out a short scream, and he turned to see her drop to the ground, the landline falling from her hand and cracking against the fake-wood linoleum.

            “Mum?” he cried, twisting around and pushing off his chair so that he could lay next to her, hands on her shoulders as she let out shrieks and sobs and tried to shudder her way into the ground. “Mum, Mum, we don’t know that she’s—all we know is that Ma is in Sacramento and it doesn’t look good. Remember those quizzes we took? Ma was likeliest to emerge from the Zombie Apocalypse alive, and I reckon this is similar, so you know, she’s probably just fine! Like, floating on driftwood or sommat.”

            But all Mum did was howl and sob, hands clutching her face, hyperventilating so hard she was coughing, and Joshua felt more helpless and useless than he’d ever felt in his life.

_April 29, 2038_ — _1:35 PM._

-User _mylittlesnickerdoodle_ has joined chat group _West Coast Writers_ -

**haddixhadocks:** and you know, the thing I hate about this college is how much emphasis they put realism. Like. What if I didn’t want to write realism?

 **littlefinger:** _@mylittlesnickerdoodle_ oh hey snickers, I thought you had class today

 **haddixhadocks:** Literally all I want to do is write mystery. Or sci-fi. All I want to do!

 **NW5eva** : hey snickers

 **Stellastar:** _@haddixhadocks_ but I thought you chose UOP b/c of their creative writing program

 **haddixhadocks:** I JUST WANT TO WRITE PUZZLES AND COOL TECH.

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** hey guys. yeah, it’s stupid. teach just gave us busywork.

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** _@haddixhadocks_ , haha. true.

 **NW5eva:** sorry dudes. _@mylittlesnickerdoodle_ , i'm in cass too. it's stupid. prof won’t let us go early tho we’re done with everything.

 **NW5eva:** *class

 **haddixhadocks:** I know! It’s really acclaimed and everything, but I didn’t realize that everything above the intro class was stupid crap. ‘you need to have experienced something to fully be able to describe it’ it’s so stupid!

 **littlefinger:** oh man we just had a tremor. Living in CA sucks sometimes.

 **Stellastar:** fuck. I’m sorry L At least it’s not a tornado?

 **haddixhadocks:** like dude, tons of people write about demon summonings and I’m sure that they don’t actually summon a demon just to get the experience. That’s stupid. It’s fed offense.

 **haddixhadocks:** shit, finger, seriously?

 **littlefinger:** this might be actual bad on second thought

 **Stellastar:** D: Be safe!

 **NW5eva:** yeah, it’s strong, I feel it too. aren’t you in Redding, finger?

 **haddixhadocks:** actually, I’m feeling stuff too.

 **littlefinger:** shit I don’t

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** wat’s happening? ground's shaking in Bellingham and there’s a p bad wind out there.

\- User _littlefinger_ has attached _ohmygod.jpeg_ , _this is a stupid prompt.doc_ , and _BastardThesis.doc_ to chat group _West Coast Writers_ -

**NW5eva:** oh my god

 **Stellastar:** What?

 **haddixhadocks:** are we all feeling the same thing?

 **NW5eva:** the ocean

-User _NW5eva_ has left the chat group _West Coast Writers_ -

**haddixhadocks:** NW? NW??

 **Stellastar:** guys, look at the jpeg look at it

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** fuck what the

 **haddixhadocks:** i'll text NW irl

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** finger? finger? Are you there? NW?

 **Stellastar:** it’s a fucking water tornado the hell is going on

 **haddixhadocks:** shit we’re being evacced to basement brb

 **haddixhadocks:** fractures everywhere

 **Stellastar:** oh my god haddix where are you

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** i think he’s Portland. still tremors and wind here

 **Stellastar:** And finger’s in Redding. Where’s NW?

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** don’t remember. CA? Fuck.

 **Stellastar:** And we’re in WA so maybe that’s why?

 **haddixhadocks:** she’s my cousin she’s in Elk Grove she won’t text me and Mom stopped texting back shit shit shit

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** Stella where are you

 **Stellastar:** Spokane

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** _@haddixhadocks_ oh my god fuck I’m so sorry

-User _littlefinger_ has left chat group _West Coast Writers_ -

**Stellastar:** shit no no I’m so sorry Dox

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** teach has TV on there’s an emergency broadcast out of NY on

 **my littlesnickerdoodle:** oh my god CA is

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** shit it’s being ripped off the US

 **haddixhadocks:** no you gotta be joking this is a joke it’s gotta be a joke

 **Stellastar:** what? What? I’m in my dorm, I don’t have access, what?

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** the ocean’s swallowing it, the plates are being ripped apart.

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** i wish it was a joke

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** shit shit oh my god they can’t even get air aid in there

 **haddixhadocks:** STOP IT stop it

 **Stellastar:** What? How ist his happenig?

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** there’s a huge storm I don’t

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** they don’t know how I can’t even

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** wait wait

 **Stellastar:**??? Fuck I can’t access any streaming sites goddammmit

 **haddixhadocks:** I can’t handle this

-User _haddixhadocks_ has left chat group _West Coast Writers_ \- 

**mylittlesnickerdoodle:** oh my god I can’t even

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** it’s fucking demons

 **Stellastar:** Dox just wait I—dammit.

 **Stellastar:** and what

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** they dunno who but it’s demons they’re ripping things apart

 **Stellastar:** oh my god

 **Stellastar:** streaming is up I gotta go call my dads they’re on business trips

 **mylittlesnickerdoodle:** go do that. they're letting us call family I’m going too.

-User _StellaStar_ has left chat group _West Coast Writers_ -

-User _mylittlesnickerdoodle_ has left chat group _West Coast Writers_ -

 

_April 29, 2038— 1:45 PM_

            Mabel stumbled down the stairs as the next tremor hit. Outside, the car door slammed shut, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Seconds later, the vase Mom had made at her last pottery class with its wonderful sparkle-glaze fell off a shelf and shattered on the uneven floorboards of the Shack.

            “Fiddlesticks,” she swore, but did her best to keep her balance as she made her way to the old gift shop, turned Supernatural-protection store.

            “Mabel, sweetie, I’ve got the kids! Where’s Henry?”

            “He’s holed up at the Library!” Mabel hollered back, ducking as a spring-loaded crossbow let loose a bolt in time with the latest shaking of the earth. “Any luck on Dipper?”

            “Little brat won’t answer!” Grunkle Stan had the door open and was ushering in the triplets. “I even had the kids call!”

            Worrying at the inside of her cheek, Mabel tottered over to the vending machine, grabbing onto the register counter to keep her balance. “I’ll try again once we’re down there.”

            “Mom? Mom, Willow’s not moving!”

            She turned around and saw her youngest, crouched over on the ground, holding her head and hyperventilating. Hank was next to her, stroking her back and murmuring, and Acacia had a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Before Mabel could move to her kids, Grunkle Stan swooped down and picked Willow up, back cracking as he did so. Though his grip visibly loosened, he didn’t drop her.

            Without further hesitation, Mabel pushed forward and punched in the code for the vending machine. The door hissed as its lock disengaged, and Mabel opened the super-secret-vending-machine-door wide for Grunkle Stan to step down the stairs, Hank and Acacia following close on his heels. Mabel stepped behind the door and then down the stairs, slamming it shut after her. Moments later, she heard a high-pitched whistling noise and the sound of much of their merchandise falling off the shelves.

            “Holy Toledo that wind’s awful,” she murmured, then smacked her shoes against the step she was on. The stairway lit up in bright flashes of color, and Willow whimpered into Grunkle Stan’s shoulder. “Sorry, honey. We gotta see, though.”

            “Everything’s fine, sweetie,” Grunkle Stan murmured as Hank’s hand wormed into Mabel’s. She looked down at his oddly lit face, creased in fear.

            “We tried everything,” Hank said. “But Uncle Dipper wouldn’t answer. He always answers, especially when Willow gets panicky and calls.”

            Acacia slid her hand into Mabel’s free one. When Mabel looked down, Acacia’s face was stony and set ahead, and she’d just pressed the seam of her sweater to turn on the lights in it. They were set in a rainbow pattern that seemed somewhat odd in the situation. Dipper would probably say they were too cheery and colorful. Mabel thought she might need to make them brighter in the next sweater.

            “It’ll be okay! You’ll see. Dipdop’s probably doing some serious business, and you know how much he likes thinking he’s super serious.”

            “What if it’s a bad cult?” Acacia asked, glancing up at Mabel as they made their way down the stairs. “And he comes back and makes the walls bleed again and won’t stop even when you try to cheer him up with goofy Uncle Dipper things?”

            Mabel grinned. “Well, we’ll just have to try harder! I’ve stashed a couple Twin Souls books down here that I don’t think he’s found, and you know how much he _loves_ those.”

            As Hank and Acacia rolled their eyes and reminded her that they knew that Uncle Dipper actually hated the books, they’ve known since they were like seven, mom, Mabel reminded herself to send a text to her parents so that their European tour wasn’t ruined by worrying about their silly children and grandchildren. And also to ask Henry if he had any success on the Dipdop front.

            Hands held by her children, Grunkle Stan leading the way with Willow in his arms, Mabel lifted her head high and refused to get down about the situation. Everything would be fine. Dipper would be fine. If he was in trouble, he’d make it out, like he always did.

            He always made it out of trouble.

           

_April 29, 2038— 2:09 PM_

**Rep. Fowls (Trad):** And what are we supposed to do? Let something like this happen again? We see what this demon is capable of! Bad enough that the internet is full of information on other demons, but to allow open season on Alcor the Dreambender? It’s madness! I’m sorry to say, but China has the right idea here.

 **Rep. Oppenheim (Prog):** We have already known that Alcor the Dreambender is astonishingly powerful for a demon, but there is no reason to restrict information from the public more than it already is! Universities already only allow Graduates access, and even then they cannot put the information anywhere without risking a Federal offense. We need to focus on getting aid to the people of California, not dicking around with legislation that doesn’t need improving.

 **Rep. Fowls (Trad):** California? There is no California! We’re not the 51 United States, we’re back down to 50! And why is there no California? Because of Alcor!

 **Speaker of the House, Rep. Nobaguchi (Prog):** While the focus of this meeting is indeed on the tragedy the state of California—if you remember, Representative Fowls, California is not yet disbanded as a state, as we are unsure either way about its current population and ability to function within a reasonable amount of time—that includes both emergency aid and our intentions about the instigators of this disaster. Senator Il?

 **Sen. Il (Prog):** Yes. As you have likely seen on the tablets distributed at the onset of this emergency meeting, the damages being incurred by Alcor the Dreambender and Melchiresa of Unknown Darkness are on a scale never before recorded. Although experts in the Supernatural Defense Department are working on the matter, they have for the moment advised keeping away from the region.

 **Sen. Pimienta (Trad):** Keep away from the region? Now, Senator Il, I understand that your state is far from the fight between two of these unholy creatures—

 **Rep. Oppenheim (Prog):** Hey! Keep the religion out of it.

 **Sen. Pimienta (Trad):** I don’t give a flying fuck about keeping religion out of it; we know that demons love to screw humans over, and what better way for two high-powered dickwads to screw us over than to absolutely trash an entire state? My voters need help. While I’m all for black-listing every single mention of Alcor the Dreambender in information available to the public, right now there are citizens of the United States that are _dying_ , gentlemen.

 **Rep. Oppenheim (Prog):** We agree on the last portion. All the citizens in California who need assistance, not our squabbling in Congress.

 **Rep. Fowls (Trad):** I hate to say it, but do you really think we’ll be able to pull anybody out of that mess? What we need to focus on is preventing such tragedies from ever happening again. We should focus on the living rather than the deceased—California is a lost cause, we need to ma—

 **Speaker of the House, Rep. Nobaguchi (Prog):** Senator Pimienta! This is not a boxing ring!

 **Rep Oppenheim (Prog):** That aside—Senator Pimienta, please calm down, I know Fowls is a dick but now’s not the time—I disagree with Representative Fowls wholeheartedly. We should focus on saving the living who are currently distressed and traumatized, and living in California. Most of the aid should be sent to California, with other forces to Oregon, which has also been greatly affected by the fight. I—ow, Pimienta, you almost elbowed me in the gut!

 **Sen. Pimienta (Trad):** You—dammit, Fowls you bastard, there are people dying and you have the nerve to suggest we ignore them?

 **Rep. Fowls (Trad):** Look, I’m just seeing the bigger picture. My heart goes out to them and their families, it does, but we need to establish the safety of the entire United States!

 **Sen. Il (Prog):** And we will get to that. Again, while the Supernatural Defense Department has advised steering clear of the area, they have several teams of trained volunteers from the Department who are willing to risk their lives to extract the living from the area. The storms seem to be dying down a bit, which means the fight should be at an end soon. As for the other areas, I move that we send in the National Guard and nonessential personnel of the Supernatural Defense Department. All for?

That seems to be the vast majority. Let’s save lives. Concerns regarding Alcor the Dreambender and all pertinent information can be saved for the next session.

_April 29, 2038—2:24 PM._

            He was fury and chaos bound only by the breadth of His imagination and the strength of His connection to the physical world. His foe—the old demon who dared take his summons seriously and use it as an excuse to attempt to overpower Ȁ̧̙̻̼̝͎̮̳̳ͯͮ͋̈́̂ͧ̿ͩ̇͋̈́͌̃̈́ͯ̈́͂̚͞l̢̨̜͔̣̫̅̓͆ͯ̋͗̓͢c̷̢̧̳͙͔͍̻̪̫̫̤͇̟͎͓̣̃̋͆ͤͫ̎͂̓͐̌̇̒̍͛̚ơ̵̵̛̩̙̗̻̲͖͂͐̒̍̃̈́̊͌̈͌̀ͧ͒͂ͭ̏̀ͫr̛̆ͤ͑ͣ̚͏̵̡͖͙̯̘̥̪͎ ̵̧̨̧̙͍͍̳̞ͩ̔̒̾̋ͮtͣͨͦͭ͊̐̓̃͆͘҉͏̢̻̼̱̥͚͈̙̥͇̟̜̙̗̰͡ͅh̵̷̙̖̻̞͍̼̦̰̙͈̤͔̲͗̈ͫ̅́ȇ̈̂͊̎ͪ͆̔ͬ̈ͮ̾ͦ̿͒̓̽̕҉͈̳̙̰̪̥̦͍̙̭̪̜ ̛̘̺͈̦̫̥̾̓͂ͤ͆̽ͦͪ̀̉̀̚͠͝ͅD̢̺̟̳͇̣̖̭̦͎̞̻̗̲̳̝͔̗̣̞͛̐̊̅ͣ̾ͫͫ͑̒̈́͛̃̒̌͆̽ͤr̵̦͇̝͈̭̝̪͇̦̟̺͇̩̞̭̫̈́́̇ͯ͑ͩ͞eͭ̾ͧͨ͏̶͎̱͎͓͚͎͜ă̋̍̔ͨ̈̎ͫ҉̢͟͠͏̲̣̲̤̥̭͉̦̯̝͍ͅmͨ̿͋ͫ̌̎͊ͭ̊̔҉̸̹̮̼̮̟̰͕̝̻̟̰̭͟͡ͅb̶̶̲̗̄̋ͫ̂̊͆ͫͪ͂ͫͭ̀̑̽̔ͪ̍̋́̚͟͟ͅȩ̳̬̘̹̟̦̪̘̏̏̄͑̆̓ͨ̓ͯ͒͛͂̏͋ͭ̌̀̚̕͘͠ǹ̢̻̥͇̬̳̙̆ͩ͊͛͜ͅd̗̝̩̘͇̱̯̼̘̦̼͈̟̮͔̆̉͆ͫͥ̑̃͂͑̂̾͗ͭ͐͂͋͋̏̀͝͞ͅe̸̞͓̫̱͙̤̟͙̙̪̮̺̭̼͙̘̓͑̐̈̒̏́̔ͯ̅͟r̷̛̺̭̭̗̪̣̺͔̦̪͐͋̅ͤͫͫͬ͆ͨͩ͂͋ͅ, D͚̺͆͗̂̑ͪ̿̚͜e̝̙͚̯̯̰ͫ͆̆ͦṿ͖̦̺̙̜̅o̸͇͎̟ụ̜̙́ͥ̀̂̒̚̕r̥̥̟͝e̻̦͈̳̠̣͙̓̎r̡͑̑̄̆͑̊ ̦̖̺͍̹͈ͩ͡ó̦̬̭ͧ̓̇ͩf͓̹͔̔̅͐ ̦̤̪̫͇̻̯͛ͬ͐Ń̅̇̆͝i͖̼̩̻̰͎̔̀̀̍́ͬͨg̭̘̩͔͍͉̎ḩ̱̠ͥ͂̀̒ͩt̵̯͚̐͑̂̇̃ͩ̓m̧̤̙̹̈́̓ͩͮ͗̏a̓r̫̦̤͖͓͓ͭͩ͐ͫe͓̠̤͉͖̠͋͐̂͜s͔̺̩̞̜̙͇̍͋̊͂̈ ̡̫̼̹̙̹̲̃ͦ̃ͫ̐ḁ̹̙ͪ̄ͨ͢ṉ̥ͤͣḍ̼̆ ̭͙͈̖̥ͬC͇͂̈́ͫo҉͎̹͚ņ̫͉̭̭̜̗͍͌s̗̻̞͢u͕̹̒ͫ̒ͫͅm̨͓̪e͑̾ͬͦ͏r̖͇̱͖̺͚̅̑̈́ͭ͋̚ ̩͓͉̣͢o̺̱͉f̟͕̣̼̫͒̓̃́ ̨̃ͫ͆ͬS̍ͥͬ͛ͧ͊҉̝̥͓o̡͖̱̩͔̳̞͛͒̈ͦ͊͌͋ṷ͙̊ͩl͐ͪ͑̇̽̋̚s̵̩̯͈̙ͅ —was tiring, feeding only off the residual energy of ten souls, wasted on inconsequential attacks and the fool̴i҉sh rending of the earth below in an attempt to distract the former mortal. The destruction of life in earth, fire, and water only made Him burn brighter, stronger, gold pouring out and cracking the skies above in His wrath. Blue fire crackled out, striking out and piercing and burning the body of His weakening opponent; hardly worth the effort to destroy now, but He would take every pleasure in making the process as p̡a͏̶i͞n͡҉f̢̢͜u͢͏l̨̕ ̷̛͡ás p͘̕óss̵͞i̕b͘͜l̀ȩ̛.

            There had been summons, tugging at Him, pulling for His attention, but He was filled with thirst for blood and anguish and suffering, unsated by the mass of negative emotion writhing below Him. A small part told Him to stop, that He was hurting _people human beings they’re dying down there_ , but He did not see the relevance other than they were H̷̜̻̘͚̭̮̻̑̾ͮ͛̃͌ĩ̺̰̯̪̤̮͍̐͠s͕̞͍̥͈̬̬͊̈́ͨͬ ̤̗̜̰̺ͨ̃ͨ̓ͅ to do with as He saw fit, and now, He saw fit to ignore their existence in favor of this challenger who pulled the crust of the planet apart and came at him with coals in his mouth and hot gold blood streaming from smoking wounds.

            A shark tooth smile pulled at His black-brick face, and He almost lazily curled a clawed, blue-burning hand-talon around the challenger’s striking arm. He smiled wider, then snapped His head forward and bit down into demonic flesh made solid off human souls. Bright golden blood gushed out and hit His face, sunk into His gums. The demon shrieked, and He raked his teeth back out of the challenger’s arm, dragging materialized bone and muscle tissue out as He did so. The pain was i̛̛͢n̴̕to͞xi͟͞c̕a̶̧ţ̴͞i͘n̨g̴͠, the anguish d̨͓̩͍͎̹̱̣͑ͤ̿ͪ̇ͧ͊̀ĭ̸̛͈͇̮͍̤͉̟ͥv͙͖̣̖̠̩̏ͯ̎́ͅͅǐ͎͍̅ͥ̈͢ṅ͚̪̳͔̥̭̺͇ͯ̓̚e̶̶̼͉͉̭̊̌̎͐͠, and He saw beautiful, indescribable stars dance in front of His eyes with the euphoria He felt. As the challenger shrieked and writhed mid-air, flailing out with burning coals and a wicked barbed tail, Alcor the Dreambender sucked the blood from His teeth into the back of His mouth and grinned wider, wider, wider than humanly possible.

            He was fury and chaos bound by nearly nothing at all, and this demon would pay for thinking he could challenge Him, He who devoured a powerful demonic soul as a mere mortal child.

Fô̱͔̥͍̦ͥͅo̦̬͆͑ͮ͑ͩ͆l͙̳̬i̸̼̬ͥ͌̀ͬ̈̓s̭̞̦͙͈̤̭̾̃͑͊ͨ͂ḧ́̔̈̂́ͭ ̈͑ demon indeed.

 

_April 29, 2038— 1:30 PM._

            It was the day of reckoning. At least, that’s what the Cult of the Dreambender (Mark 7, but who was really counting?) thought. They had gotten into a spat with the Cult of a lesser known demon and had decided to settle the brawl in true cult style: Demon match.

            Chrissy thought that perhaps both groups’ common love for monster battles like Monstermon might be influencing their views of what was an acceptable way to solve differences. Then again, she’d been told several times by her cultmates that the idea of summoning a demon with ice cream was a bit stupid and out there, so maybe she just didn’t know anything.

            “You’re not taking part in this one? Where’s your Cult of the Dreambender pride, huh?”

            She leaned back, looked up at her sibling, and scrunched her nose. “I dunno, Spruce, this seems a bit like overkill. You know?  Plus, shouldn’t we not be skipping for demonic summonings? It’s such a nice day.”

            Her sibling rolled zir eyes. “Maybe a bit, but how else are we supposed to figure out who’s really better?”

            “And what are you using to pay Alcor?”

            Spruce looked at the ground, scratched zir right calf with zir clear-lacquered fingernails. “Erm.”

            Chrissy straightened up and turned so that she wasn’t seeing her sibling upside down. “You aren’t.”

            “Um.”

            “No. You. Me. We are not taking part in this. No. If your stupid friends want to get their stupid souls eaten by Alcor the Dreambender instead of going the sensible way and compiling all our leftover Halloween and Easter candy as well as maybe objects filled with sentimental value and a couple tubs of Rocky Road, then they can do that. Us? No. Dad would _kill_ me.”

            “No, just me,” Ze mumbled, but sat down next to her. “Not you. He’d just ground you forever.”

            “He loves us both enough to ground us forever instead of killing us, and you know it.” Throwing an arm around zir shoulders, Chrissy watched as both groups constructed their respective circles in the middle of the abandoned warehouse at the edge of Stockton. Honestly, she was in a Cult of Alcor because she’d read up on rumors that he did deals for candy and crap like that, but also because she liked how his circle looked. It was neat. Nicely geometric but also appealing. Circles like Malawhatsit’s were just a mess. Like they were trying too hard to be old and obscure.

            Her sibling sighed. “Harold’s going to be mad at us.”

            She shrugged. “Let him. It’s his choice. Doesn’t really matter how many people are around the circle; if he complains, tell him I made you. Blackmail or something.”

            True to form, Harold yelled at them a bit, told them to contribute or leave, and Chrissy—as usual—just stared at him until he was weirded out enough by her heterochromatic eyes to back down.

            Really, she thought distantly, there must be something wrong with her if she considered her need for popcorn at a simultaneous summoning of two different demons. All that Latin was making her hungry, and she was skipping lunch by skipping school. “I want popcorn.”

            “I can’t believe you sometimes,” Spruce said. “Seriously?”

            “If I’m hungry, I’m hungry,” she replied, eyeing the black smoke pooling in the center of Alcor’s circle as their rival Cult finished a hurried Sumerian incantation for their demon. “I figure it’s better to be honest than not.”

            “W̧̺͚̹̭ͦͯ͊̉̀͠h̶̭͉ͥ̌o̴̶̤̱̩̭̝̙͈͑̿̓͛ ̢̜̫̙͚͙̼̗̠̑̅̀́d̶͇ͤͦ̓̐́̓å̸̬̭̮̮̞̙ͨ̈ͫ͂̋ͥͣͧr̡̹̺͇̞͚̼̐̈́ḗ̵͔̦̪̱͙̪͉͋ͧ̉̌͢ͅṣ̣̙̟͎̗͓͔̩͂͂̉͑ͦͦ ̻̯̭̓ͪͦ̿́s̸̗̣̦̙̟̳͇̹̑ͩͨ̉́͢ủ̡̟̳̘̗̲̗̀̐̇̂̈́̀͋̚͡m̵̡̺̩̟̩̯̎̎̄̀m̀ͪ͐҉̩̳ͅo̡̖̱̝̪̖͕͈͛͊͟ͅn̶̟̯͈̾̐ͬ̉̾̓̐ͩ ̵̦̰͇̳̦͈̙̯̋̽̇͠ͅA̛͎̔ͬ͊͋̊̓͜l͆͛ͬͫ̎̏̎͛҉̶̻͍̯̞͚̥͙̣c͈͔̹̣̹̘̊ͨ͊̌̇͢ͅọ̧̱̭̦̖̮̱̈ͦͭͥ̒̊r͓̗̳͔ͬ̓̐̊ͣͧ ̡͇̠̜̘̣ͦ̇ͤ̀̾̃ͩ̈́̚͝t̖̞̞̠̥̳̒ͨ̽ͥ͊h͇̞͂͊̈̆̓͠ẹ̵͕̈́̎ͪ̾ͨͤ͡͠ ̖̖̰̱̜̜͉̲̓̍ͩ̈̿D͎̰͔̲̟̣̍̓̏̌̄̾ͮ͘ͅr̡͍͍̤̹͉͙̮͉͒̊ͨ̋ͤ̈́ͥē̼͕̼̯̋̿̉͟a̢̦ͦ̅̋̕m̷̻̝̝͒̇̃͐̏̄̔͡ͅb̧̞̖̦̗̲̲̂͋̐ͮ͛ͪͅẻ̸̸͎̪͖̽̊̃̓̂̒n̶̟̗̺͚̹̳̝͊̈́ͧͥ̽̈̀̆͡ḓ̻̫̰̘͍ͬ͒ͩ̍͋̚̚ͅͅẽ̀̾ͪ҉̧̝̬͇̱̥̤̺r̩͖̟̐͆͗̀̀?̑ͥͨ̄̅ͩ͋̊̋͏̼̖””

            His voice was odd, high and reedy and rumbling with an echo that reminded Chrissy of a song being played by two different people simultaneously. Not at all what she imagined, she figured, and somewhat intimidating if she was frank with herself, but not bad.

            “Oh, Lord of Dreams and Devourer of Nightmares, we have only one wish of you. Please, teach the demon our rival cult is summoning the true meaning of power!”

            Alcor the Dreambender blinked. “W̸͈͚ͮ̃̾̇̋a̸̠͔̜̦͋i͍͂̀͂ͤͣ̚t̗̻̗ͦ̏͟, y̸ơu  want me to fight another d͢e͠mon҉? That’s your deal? What are you giving me for this?”

            “He’s…” Spruce whispered.

            “Yeah,” she whispered back. “Bit nerdy, right?”

            Spruce nodded.

            “Our souls! All those who stand around this circle will present you with our souls as payment. Please, validate us in the eyes of others.”

            For a moment, Alcor looked torn for some reason. Maybe he really would have preferred having sweets, as the internet told her?

            “W̴̸̡̰͚̠͕̹̰͎̻̙̐́ͥ͌̂h̶̛͍̝̟͕̖̘͓͍ͩ͊̒͛͊̑̾̄ͨ͌̂̑͑̂̇̔̂̀͑͞ŏ̥̳̤̫̮͍̯̬͕͓̗̜͉̲̬̥̞́ͯͮ͊ͥ̆̂͂̀̽͒ͣ̍ͯ̀͑͜͟͟͞͞ ͯ͂̅͊̋ͬ̓̐̇̾͏̷̛͙̠͉͓̪͎̹̱́͘d̶̲̼͎͙͉̳̜͎̼̻͕̩ͣͪ͌̋͐ͧ̐̅͆̀͘͡a̴̢͓̗̙͚͖̠͚̼͕̭͙͕͚̰͔̗̙ͦ͊͗̑̌ͮ͂̅ͥ͌ͤ͌̍̃ͪ̀̚ͅrͮͨ̋̾͐ͬ͐͑̑̃̂̄͊̅̋҉̧̤̜̳̥͖͚e̷̶̙̥̻̫̰͙̻̪͔̥̝̪͈͔̩̱̓͆̏̓ͥ̋ͧ̂̓̎ͧͮ̓̂́ͅs̪͓̻̦̪ͦ̍̍͌͌̆͟ͅ ̆ͩ̄̒͏̵͇̙̳̙̲͢s̷̨̛̟̩͓͖̳̼̗̠͔̼̮͓̲̫̣̫͊̋ͫ̃̿̃ͪ͌ͣͧ͐̔͘͞ų̸̳̠͈̻͍͚͕̳̺ͮ́ͨ̊ͧ͑̓ͤ̀ͯ̔͋́̚̕͝m̧̦̙̳̞̲̟̺ͫ̆̌͗̎͐̐̚m̶̮̱̱̮̺̳̼̱̪̬͆̆ͩ̄̌ͤ̾́̾͊ͣͨ͡͝ơ̙̲̜̮͕͓̤̰̟̦̫̮̻̪̺̘͙͖̪̽̔͑͛ͤ̅͒͊́̀́̈́͌̊̚̕̕ņ̴̸͎̼̰̘̙̠̟͕̝̥̲̦̦̭̙̏ͭ̋̋ͦͤͥ͌̆̽͗̀̅̄͑́͘ ̡ͭͯ̊ͬ̑͒͌̅̂͂́̂͑̚͟͏͙̗̭̬̩͇͍̦̝̤ͅM̶̨̿̈́͊͑͑ͧͭͩ͊ͭ̿̏͌̈́̄͂͋͏͇̣̣̙̼̼͇̪͚̪ě̔̿͊̈̃̑ͮͮ̑́͋̊͆͗̊̓̑̋͏͍͓̜̖͚̹̣͍̦͇̘͘͡l̡͖̮̤̟̫̹̫̠̞͕̬̤̮̞̏͂ͩ͆̀̆̀́͘͜c̵͔̬̻̥̆̉́̾̌ͩ̿ͩ̏̅̃̿̆͂͘͜͡͠h̶̵̯̳͙͚̠̫̖̊ͫͬ̒͋͂̀ỉ̤̤͈̘̼̞̤̭̿͛̆̑͂̎̊͒ͤ̋̏̈́͗ͫ̇͟͡ŕ̸̨͉̪̲͙̦̮͚̪̹̠̲̱̳͓̪̝̭ͥ͐̆̈́ͤͫ̉́̀̕ͅͅé͛̈̉̎̔͑̐͊͑̚͜͝͏̨̤̘̮̩̝͈͔͔̘̭̦̦̙͠s̷̡͖̜͍̾̂̄̒́̀a̷̧ͩ͛̊ͣ̔̋̕҉̘̼̩̜ ̶̙͈̰̳̉̃̍ͣ̎͛ͫͦ́͋͜͠͠o̸ͮ̏ͤ̿̌ͤ̑͒͌̉̈́͗̈́̚͏̵̢̧͓̝̰̯̼͎͍f̶̨͚̮̳̝̬̥̺̩͉͓̰̜̫̙̾ͮ̐ͯ͆̊̏ͤ͗͘͘ ̃͆̍̀̅̂̀̇͂͐͂̿̉̄͒̀͠͠҉̮̲̤̲̦͈̲Ų̬̪̺͍̞̠͚͓̖͑͌̓̇̄ͮ̓̔̚͝ņ̙̝̟̪̠͈͇̰̳̙̥͉̟͈̺ͩͥ̅̕ķ̵ͥͯ̔̍͞҉͇̲̱̰͎̙͈̹͓̳̣̳̝̼̩͍ͅņ̸̝̲͓̥̦̮̰̳̖ͧ̅ͯ̂̀͘o̴̘͙̮͎͕̦̦̩ͮ̌͛ͩ̿̓̿͒ͭͨ̄ͣ́͊̕͜w̵̢̨͕̻̹̪̪͉͖ͧ͂̒ͬ̎ͥͤ̆ͮ̅̍̆̉ͫͪ̑̈́͌ͭ́ṇ̢̬͙̣̹̙̪͚̼͍͖̔̈͌̆ͤ̑ͪ̍͐ͦ̂͑ͦ̈̃̀ ̸̓̉͊ͧͪͥ͠͏̼̝̮̖̮̟̪͈̬͚̥̱ͅD̸̨̤̱̝̺̩̖͎̲͈͕͉͚̠̓͐ͦ̓ͮ̇͂ͩ̇̇̚̕ạ̷̡̬̟̦̙͋̄ͨ͑̏͢͢ͅͅr̹̭͓̫̪̺̖̰͎̦̟̤͕̬ͮͩ̒ͪ͋̀̀͘k̷͉̪̰̞͓̩̘͉͇̪̙͍̩͖͈̙̎ͮͮ͑͆̾ͫ̋̒̃̕n̶̸̼̩͓̫̪͚̤̥̫͖͓̯̟̦̟̙̖̭ͨͬ̇̈ͩ͗̈̂͗͘e̷̡̝͕̥̜̩͈͊̊̈́̉̽̎͛͘͜͝s̡͈̻̭͕̹̦̦͍̘̗̺̘̼̬̔͑̒ͫͪ̈́̂̑͗ͨ͛̈͊ͫ̀̑̑͟ş̡̳̜̫̺̘̫ͬͦ̅͂͛ͧ͆̎̇̈̽̽̐̔̕͘͝ͅ?̔̓̓̂͆͛̽͋̈ͯ̈́͐ͮ̽̾̓҉̧̛̺̟̻̪̜̦͔̼̦̀”

            “Oh Milchiresa, of the Eldest of Demons, we are your ever loyal followers, wishing only for you to prove your might over Alcor the Dreambender and by proxy our might over the Cult of the Dreambender.”

            Alcor looked over, raised an eyebrow at the fuzzy figure in the other circle, its eyes thin orange slits, coals burning in its mouth and spiraling horns tucked close to its head. A thin, barbed tail swayed slowly, back and forth.

            A moment of silence, then two. Milchiresa’s dark face split into a ghastly grin, sparks blowing out as he exhaled. “A̪̖ͣ̊͛͠͠ǹ̨͕̯̱̯̐ͩ͐̌d̵̡̢͉̠̤͍̳̮̏̆͌̋̚ ͤ͏̵̨̻̭͙̘̬͔̠̬wͫ͊͏̪̩̯͕̙h̦̯̹̱̜͙ͥ͆ͣͩ̕a̶̙̹ͪ̓ͦ͂ͯ̕ṯ̨̲͙̟͔͂̄̅̑̏ͤ̆ͣ̀͠ ̢̘̗̯̰͖̥̣͔͊̒͗͌͠͝i̿̈̉̽ͮ͐҉̻͖̜͔̪͍̤̯̮s̆ͧͣ́͝͏̻͔̭̼͚̬̟̯ ̧̛̳̝̘̲̅̎͛̿͆ṃ̖͈̘̲̰̾̊ͩ̿̊͘y̶͚̰̲̭̯̙̺̬̓ͤͥ̌͛͂̈́͘ ̸̤͖̄͗ͫ́̅ͪ̍̈́ͤͅp̗̌ͬ͂ͭ́̈́̏̿â̷̹̤̬̜͓͡y̶̳͓͔̞͓͍̲ͦ̎̈̈́ͧ͗ͥͭ̾͘m̤̼͎͕̰̙̩͖̌ͩͤͤ̾ͥėͣͩ҉̲̪̘̦̭͉̫̰n̩̭̱͎͇͔͊̄ͪ̋͡t͖͑̊̐͆́̒͘͜͠ ͖̺͕̲͂͋ͨ̈̎f̷͈͉̗͖̗̹̄ͮ͐̃͞o͓̙̖̲͓̞͋͠r̐ͬ͒҉̡͙̯̗̝̯̻͓͞ ̺̣̤̯̲̼̱̠̔̌ͨ͗s̭̝̫̥̭̯͆̔̀̒̑̓̽́ͦ͝ͅư͎͈̣̠̳̺͚͕̇̕͞c̢̬̖͇̦̰̞͖̹̈̑͝ḩ̛̠͕̦̒̈́̉́̀ ̷̲̗̪̿̿͒ͧ͆̂ͮͅa̶͈͋̒ͯ ̨̩̞̖̪͕̦͇͆ͫ͋̌ͪ̀ͧͩͅb̘͈̗̠ͦ̌o͛̓͐̕҉̱̗͚ŏ̻̱̝̠̤̑̀̍̊̕͘n̔ͮ͛̊̄ͨͫ͏͚̥͙̱͢?̵͔̘͙͕̏͑̅̓ͪ̎ͪ͗͡”

            “…You really want to do this, then.” Alcor said, dragging a taloned hand down his surprisingly human face. “Right. Your loss, my gain.”

            “Our souls, oh eternal one! For anything less would be a pittance.” Here, the leader of the other cult shot Chrissy a glare. Somebody was on their high horse today. She tugged Spruce closer.

            “Don’t ever sell your soul for anything,” Chrissy murmured. “For nothing. _Nothing_.”

            “Okay,” Spruce replied.

            Almost simultaneously, Alcor and Milchiresa stuck out their hands to their respective cult leaders, blue fire and hot red coals gleaming in the dim warehouse lighting. “Y̵̧̥̣̩̌̔ͦ͋ͦ̉̃̕o̼̯̺ͪ͗̾͐̎͞͞u̞̼͈ͪ̿̇ͥ͋rͣ͗̌ͮͩ͆̈ͮ̓҉͔̙̞͢͞ ͖̪̲̗̲̋̇̍̈̿̊͗̕s̏̒̍́̌̀͏̲͓̯͈ȍ̺͈̯͎͖͍͎͂͂̄͂ͤ̀̚̕u͆̉ͨ̽ͬͤ͢҉͉̙͕̺̯̜̳̲ļ̨̓ͥͧ͒ͯ҉̥̺̰s̪̣͓̪͍̳͙͖ͤ̃ ̫̟̣̽ͯ̔͑f̷͍̩̠͑̈o̢̤̤̬̝ͯ̋ͅȑ̡̼͈̹͙͎̈́̒̿͌̃ ̢̙͉̫̗̟̳̟̾̈́ͭͥ͆͆̋̂m̞̲͍̭͍̜̀̉̅ͪ̆̀̕y̳̗̪͇̪̩̣͂̒͘ ̨̣̰̬̥̤͓̟́ͨͨ͐̏dͤ͂̄̌̍̇̊̈҉̸̵̻͉o̶̞͙̹̠͖̩̮͚ͬ̾m̩͕̽ǐ̶̦̞̼̤̙̦͇ͣͪ̄̽n̥̩̫̭̥͇̼̠̤ͥͥ̂̓å̼͉͈̫͌̑̓ͤ̇̀͡n̲͚̻̟̩̥͒̓̆͘č̪̪̰̩̺̗̝͂̆̏̍̄ͦͯ̇ͅeͧͥ̌̌ͪ͘҉̛͙͖̜͉̠̬͇̲—̖̘̜̫͙͈̙͉͂ͨͭ͆ͭ̀͢d̰̮̞̣͇͈̠̝ͭ͗ͧ̿̏ͯͦ͌o̷͗̃͛͛͊͊ͦͧ̏҉̲̰͓̱͚̰ ̶̼͍̺̯̦̓w̧͉̗̮̺̿ͦ̃͆ͦͨe̫̞͙̰̱͌ͬ͊ͪ̾͂ ̸͕̯̝͓͚̞̜̹̭̂͆̒ͭ̅̓̑ͥ͘͝ḧ͖̲̦̹͉̲̦̈́̿͊̍ͫͥ͜͡ͅâ̌̃ͯͨ̽҉̶͎̻̣̮̣̠͘ͅv̛͚̫̦̼͖̉ͪ͡e̮̱͔ͣ̽̋ͬ̋͐͞ ̡̬͎̾̿̆͐͂͐͠a̩̻̬̝̜̺̺ͪͣ͘ ͎̦͔̖̗̺̣͓ͧ̒̌͟͡ḏ̭̠͇̥ͭ̆̔ͯ̏̍̕ȩͯ̋ͫ͑̅ͪ́ͧͭ͏͎̳a̧̛̤̥̙̐ͯͬ̅̈̎̃̚l̳̒̃ͅͅ?̹͚̥͈̑͒ͭ͊͑ͫ̌”

            The moment Harold’s hand touched Alcor’s, and High-Horse’s touched Milchiresa, there was an eerie sort of total silence that had the hair on Chrissy’s neck standing up on end. For the first time since they’d started, she looked at the situation they were in and saw mortal peril.

            “Fuck, Spruce, we gotta get—”

            Then the world erupted in fire and cracked earth; Chrissy and Spruce were blasted back from the circles, the other humans in the room dissolving into ash and dust. Upon impact with the wall, Chrissy felt something snap, and then felt Spruce’s hand fall out of hers. She fell, dimly heard a thud next to her, and then looked up with bleary eyes.

            There they were, demons, Alcor black and gold and blue, Milchiresa tar and red and grey, grinning and bristling with excess energy. She blinked, and they blurred, throwing themselves at each other with the force of a hundred of last year’s most powerful earthquakes, and the ceiling started to fall in. She reached for Spruce’s hand, thinking _well, Dad won’t have to kill us I guess_ and _I wish ze wasn’t here_ and _I just want zir hand_.

            When the wreckage that killed her hit her in the head, her fingers were centimeters away from zirs.


End file.
